A Priori
by ravenously
Summary: The man says the Asset fell from a train seventy years ago. That the Asset was Captain America. That the Asset used to be the man's friend. The Asset thinks that sounds nice. But it has never before experienced anything so nice and lives in a world of blood and death. Of red and black and nothing else and so, the Asset concludes, the man that labels himself as Bucky must be wrong.


**I.**

The Asset is currently huddled in front of the cyro chamber, breathing heavily and covered in ice, unresponsive to the world at large while its mind slowly unfreezes (not that it's not frozen regardless). A kind handler threw a blanket at the Asset about twenty minutes ago, and though it took it the Asset twenty minutes to figure out how its hands work, it eventually figured out that the handler wanted the Asset to wrap the blanket around the shoulders.

The hands and arms work and slowly the legs unfreeze enough for the Asset to uncurl, stiffly. It lets out a soft whine at that, which means the inner organs have unfrozen. Though, it really doesn't matter if the vocal cords are functional. The Asset does not need a voice.

Once the Asset lets out the noise, a herd of handlers step into the room and slowly get the Asset to its feet, deceptively gentle in the moments between stasis and mission. Or, well, the Asset believes it to be gentle- it's a brusque walk with no regard for personal space but it is much nicer than the Asset it used to.

Its led to a shower. The water is warm for once, and though the Asset cannot want, perhaps warmth would be one thing it _would_ want.

The handlers wash the Asset's hair and scrubs it down with a clinical approach, and it tunes out their talking, their laughter. Ignores when one pulls harshly on the Asset's dick, laughing with his comrades when there is no response except for the Asset to jerk forward a little.

They shave the Asset and trim the Asset's hair before so it is out of its eyes, blond sticking up. Dress it in tactical gear, leather and straps and black.

When the Asset is finished being prepared, the limbs are looser and ready. One of the handlers pats the Asset's head and it leans into the touch, perhaps unconsciously craving more warmth and the handler laughs and backhands the Asset away.

The handler hisses, "Get off, you fucking dog shit."

The Asset doesn't understand several of those words, but there was a command in them so it leans back, tilting the face to the floor while they finish with it. Stares into nothingness and ignores their touches until the Asset is forced into a standing position and made to follow them down the hallway.

Half of the words today make no sense. The world is only seen through a hazy film, everything removed from the Asset. It remembers listening to the tacticians this morning, when parts of its brain thawed, and how they murmured about potential brain damage from wiping and freezing and beating the Asset so much. The Asset is not sure if it was supposed to hear that, but it still circles lazily in the mind, one of the only things in there, and the Asset can do nothing but hope that its mind is functional for the Mission.

The Asset is pushed into another room and it goes stiff at the sight of the chair, but the Asset knows that the chair happens before the freeze, not after. Still. Perhaps the Asset is programmed to be terrified of the chair, because, with all his mind it is.

The handlers that led the Asset here disperse, though there are guards in the room now. That generally means someone important is coming, and when the man in the sharp-dressed suit walks in, the Asset catalogs that it is correct. Not that it matters what it mentally catalogs, since chances are the information will be gone by the end of the Mission.

"Soldier." The man purrs, and the Asset straightens, still looking to the ground. The Asset's masters never like direct eye contact. One of the handlers this morning murmured how the Asset had doll eyes, so maybe that is the reason. "How are you this morning?"

The Asset does not respond, just waits. It is not supposed to speak unless it is asked a specific question. And even then, those are generally 'yes' or 'no' questions. The question… The question this master has asked him is impossible for the Asset to answer, and it feels a thrum of panic deep in the bones, before glancing up slightly, replying, "Functional." That seems appropriate.+

The man hums, sits languidly at the table that is set with food and beckons for the Asset to sit as well. Though, the Asset's posture is much more stiff and straight than the man's. The man offers the Asset food and it doesn't know what to do. This master is peculiar; doesn't he know that food is for people, not weapons?

"I suppose you wouldn't remember me." The master hums, and the Asset inclines its head slightly, if only for the excuse to look away from the food the other man has put on the plate in front of it.

No, the Asset does not remember this particular master. But, like all of the higher ups, the Asset's programming always seems to know who will give it orders. And the programming in its mind right now is screaming _protect, listen, obey_ every time it looks at this master.

"It is a bit tedious to have to introduce myself each and every time we talk." The master continues, and the Asset can't help but wonder- _god, _but that is punishable, to wonder- how many times they have met. "I'm Secretary Pierce."

This master is strange. He tells the Asset who he is and offers food to the Asset and talks to the Asset as though it can reply like a _person_. This master gives the Asset small little smiles like he has a private joke (to be fair, the masters the Asset can remember always had that look). But. After watching Pierce eat for twenty more minutes, careful not to have eye contact with him, Pierce pushes back his plate, clears his throat and gives the Asset its Mission.

This is more normal, more how the Asset knows how to respond.

_Mission: Fury, Nicholas J. To be terminated within 72 hours._

For some reason, Pierce gives the Asset a reason for his termination. Maybe he always does that, but the Asset needs no explanations, will carry out the orders given without pause. But it is not the Asset's place to question a master's intentions.

The Asset is outfitted with weapons, with goggles and a mask and ushered into the back of a van, and even thoughts of wonder and confusion bleed out as the Mission takes over the mind, keeps the Asset present in that it has a purpose.

No thoughts to spiral through and confuse it as the Asset perches on a building at night, hours after a car chase, and shoots at Fury, Nicholas J. It's a killing shot, and the Asset does not need to check to make sure, because there are others in the apartment.

The Asset is chased onto the rooftop, and a shield is thrown at its face. It's caught easily in the metal hand. A little too easily and there's a sinking feeling of deja vu, the sort that the Asset has been trained to report immediately. It sickens the Asset and makes it pause after it throw the shield back at the pursuer, feeling dizzy and faint. And that is enough for the pursuer to throw the shield again, catching the Asset and almost tumbling it down the building.

The Pursuer is familiar. It makes no sense to the Asset, but something inside of it screams not to hurt him. To stand down, but that is not an order, that is not the directive and the Asset must return to extraction point, to give a mission report and-

The Pursuer tackles the Asset to the ground, and normally, he would be no match for the Asset, but it is dizzy and faint and _feeling_, and the pursuer eventually beats him to the point of unconsciousness. That, the Asset it used to.

Something slides in the Asset's head and it feels like cracking ice.

**II.**

The Asset is sitting in a cell that it already knows cannot be escaped from. Its wrist are chained behind it in a way that even the metal arm can't escape from, and its legs are chained in the same manner. The Asset would, if it had wants, like to take off the mask covering its face. Its getting uncomfortable and tight against the face.

Instead, all the Asset can do is glower with its eyes when a man walks into the room, takes a seat opposite the Asset. He holds two cups in his hand, slowly slides one of them over to the Asset.

"Damn, blue eyes. Good thing this ain't X-Men, otherwise you would have just Scott Summer'ed me to death." The man says as he sits, spreading his hands in front of him, absolutely at ease. Well. The Asset can see the tension in the eyes and the back, can all but feel the suppression of fear in this man's body. But he is better at hiding it than most.

The man gestures to the cup, frowns at the shackles locking it down to the table. "Aw, fuck. I made you a cup of coffee and you can't even drink it. Pity, man." He slides the cup back to himself, putting it next to the other cup. "Well. More for me."

The Asset does not understand most of what the man said, nor does it care. The man is annoying and over-caffeinated, if coffee is what he is drinking.

The man's smile turns into something much less sincere after the Asset does not respond, and he runs a hand through his dirty blond hair, sighing. Takes a drink from one of the cups and shivers. "Okay, look. I don't think I gotta explain that trying to escape is a no-go, right? Your best bet is to cooperate."

The Asset blinks at the man, slowly raises the shackled wrists to show this idiot that it can't exactly _move_. For some reason, there is a churn of something deep in the Asset's gut, something that makes him want to harm this man even without an order. Glowering suffices as a response, again.

The man chuckles, leans back in his chair as though he isn't worried about anything. As though he's trying to appear nonchalant and normal. The Asset can see how dangerous the man is.

"Right. So." The man says after a few moments, shifting a little in his seat. The Asset thinks that perhaps he is uncomfortable. "We know you're the Winter Soldier, we know you tried to assassinate Nick Fury. We _don't_ know who you're working for or how much you're acting on your own."

The Asset blinks, cocks the head to the side. Acting on its own? That would be impossible. Does this man not understand the natural order to things? How a weapon must be handled and aimed before shooting?

The man takes a good look at the Asset and sighs again, leans forward and slowly takes off the Asset's mask. It makes no difference; it's not like the Asset cannot speak with the mask on, it is just impractical to speak anyways. What the Asset is not expecting is the surprised blink that the man gives, the widening of his eyes.

"Oh, shit." He says, dropping the mask to the metallic table with with a faint _thud_.

More words the Asset does not know. It sits back, feels the… _something_ churn again and grumbles to himself in Russian. Meaningless curses. Russian is a better language for it than English is, now. Even if the masters have started to be American again.

The man stands, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I'm Clint. Don't- Don't move." And then he's gone, leaving the Asset to blink after him, sit back in the chair and try not to think about the fact that it's head is waking up, thinking things that aren't directives and orders and how that, _that_ is almost as frightening as the chair.

He left the damn coffee, too, and in some lost corner of the Asset's mind, there is longing.

**III.**

The next person to step into the room is a red-headed woman, and as soon as the Asset sees her, it panics, frantically trying to get out of the shackles, if only to defend, if only to try and retaliate, because she is _dangerous _ (Because they've met, its brain tells the Asset; _you've met and you nearly killed her and yet here she stands_).

Its programming takes hold and tells it _Threat: Imminent. Retaliate and defend. _The Asset realizes that he doesn't like being strapped down.

She is all bottled up danger and cool, assessing movements as she sits across from the Asset, waits for it to calm down before getting comfortable. The shackles are too tight for it. The woman seems unarmed, but the Asset knows that makes no difference.

"Captain Rogers." She says in greeting, and the Asset cocks its head, confused. There is no Captain Rogers here. Is it perhaps one of his missions? Did it kill a Captain Rogers under one master or another's orders?

(There's a brief flash of red, white, blue and a red face, but it's washed away in an instance.)

The Asset's look of confusion seems to vaguely surprise the woman, though that could be fake. She seems to know how to fake any look on her face, fake entire responses. "Ah. The Winter Soldier, then. What is your designation?"

There. Finally, something that it can answer. "Designation: The Asset. Or, The Soldier. Codename: Winter Soldier." It replies, voice rough and scratchy from disuse. It hurts its throat, but it's not like the Asset isn't used to things like that (isn't used to its throat hurting for various reasons). The Asset knows its supposed to be a ghost, but the blond man, Clint, already knew what it is, as does this woman. And the Asset also knows that the woman has met it before.

The woman looks at the Asset, scrutinizing, for a moment, then sits back and nods, gives it a smile. The Asset is not used to unassuming smiles and this one is no different. The way the woman's hair catches in the light makes the Asset's hands twitch for pastels and paper, though it doesn't know why. Weapons do not _draw_ or _sketch_. Why, then, does it want to now?

"Okay. This is going to go simply. You tried to assassinate Director Fury. I want to know under whose orders you were operating." She says after a moment, and the Asset perks up from its woolgathering, furrows its brow. How does she not know? Is it not obvious?

"HYDRA." It replies immediately, fingers twitching. The Asset thinks that perhaps it is not supposed to give out such information, but it has never been captured before. HYDRA has always been confident in its Asset.

"Right." She says after a moment, pursuing her lip. She looks… Worried. Yes, that is the word. The Asset has seen it on some handlers when it is malfunctioning.

(The Asset is 78% certain it is malfunctioning now, what with the _thoughts_ in its head.)

And then she is leaving as well, and the Asset almost tells her to stop, because it does not want to be left with its thoughts again. They're getting louder. But he doesn't, because it is not in the Asset's place to make demands.

**IV.**

If they're playing a practical joke on him, Bucky's seriously going to punch every single one of them who had a hand in it. He's moving, sprinting, really, through the corridors at Tony's Tower, panic dancing underneath his breast bone like a constant drumbeat.

Natasha said that Steve is alive.

Which is. Well. It should be impossible. It should be absolutely ludicrous to even _think_ it's a possibility, but then again… Look at him. James Buchanan Barnes, the man who froze taking down a plane headed right to New York.

He pauses just outside the door to the holding room, rubs at his face. He just. He never entertained the thought. The fact that Steve, Steve who fell off a train in '44, who _died_ and gave the title of Captain America to Bucky is _alive_ and evidently in a holding cell is just.

Bucky wants to cry. And laugh. And pass out and wake the _fuck_ up.

"Jarvis. This room?"

"_Yes, sir._"

Right. He should go in. See… See Steve. They told him… They sort of told him what was going on. Hardly anything. They want him to confirm that it's Steve before they… He doesn't know.

He may be Captain America now, but he's no leader. Not like Steve was.

Hell, he could hardly get through New York and the Chitauri's without breaking Fury's 'Cap's the leader' mojo going on. It just. It didn't work anymore.

Bucky didn't work well anymore. Sure, he went on the occasional mission, but it was all… Simple stuff. He had to do them to keep up appearances, but it was _Steve_ who was the real hero. Not Bucky. Not Bucky Barnes who crashed a plane into the arctic and who managed to get his ass caught by HYDRA in Germany.

Belatedly, he realizes he's not breathing too well, hyperventilating really. Leaning against the wall and feeling nauseous.

"_Sir? Are you alright?" _Jarvis' voice cuts through the panic and Bucky jumps, almost shooting to attention in the hallway.

"Fuck. Uh. Yeah." Bucky mumbles, scraping his hands through his hair, grabbing at the ends and pulling it up with a random hair tie. There really was no reason to keep it short, after a while. He scrubs at his eyes, groans slightly. "Shit."

He steadies his breathing slowly, clenches his fists to pull everything back inside. Bucky can't- He can't just fall apart because it might be Steve. He should be _happy. _Even if they said that Steve might not remember. That Steve might not be the man that Bucky remembers.

Another deep breath in.

Another deep breath out.

He's okay. Or, at least, in the right mind to pretend he is.

Bucky opens the door and steps inside, hears it click shut. There's two parts to the room- the holding cell where the Winter Soldier must be and then a small observation room behind one-way glass. He's in the latter, along with Natasha and Clint. They both glance back at him, give him a short smile.

"See, neither of us are 100% positi-" Clint starts but Bucky shuts him up quick by stalking to the winow, peering through the glass. Wide-eyed as he looks and takes in the Winter Soldier.

Takes in the gaunt cheeks and hollowed, doll eyes. The hastily chopped hair and stiff posture. The metal _fucking_ arm.

Takes in the blue, blue eyes and blond hair.

"Fuck." He breathes, and then he's all but sprinting for the door to be let into the holding room, despite Clint's arguing. Natasha is silent, seems to understand that Bucky needs to _see_ him. When he glances back at her, Bucky notices she looks pitying, for just a moment, before it's locked away behind a mask.

"Goddamnit, Barnes, you-" Clint's attempts at arguing are cut off by, presumably, Natasha, but Bucky doesn't care. Not at all. He stares wide-eyed at the shackled man in front of him, almost dizzy with emotion and shock.

The Winter Soldier- Steve, Steve- stares back with dull, emotionless eyes. He looks completely unimpressed by Bucky's barging in, except… Now there's a slight widening of eyes, carefully shut away after a moment, as though it was never meant to be there.

"Steve?" Bucky asks, voice numb with… _everything_, and need and want and longing and despair and _hope_. He needs Steve to- To what? Just to be, maybe. They said he might not remember, and Bucky doesn't know what that _means_. He does know that there's a reason they're keeping him in Stark's tower and not at SHIELD and he intends to find out, but for now.

This is enough.

At least, until the Winter Soldier's face completely shuts down (how it could after being already so blank, Bucky doesn't know), brow furrowing. "Who the hell is Steve?" He asks, and his voice is hesitant, carrying an _accent_ that Steve never had, the inflections all _fucking_ wrong, like he doesn't know what half of them mean.

Bucky, as it is, flees.


End file.
